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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cannes d'Eau: The Excursion {Varkel} (MF oral violence)
Date: Fri,  7 Nov 2003 17:10:07 -0500
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Cannes d'Eau
Episode 3: The Excursion
a Series by Varkel
Fall, 2003



"What's the steam pressure, Tunny?"

The scrawny tow-headed lad, in jeans and gray shirt but barefoot,
sitting in the driver's seat, declared, "580 pounds, Madam Ruth."

The woman, prettily plump despite early middle age, cape held
closed at the throat against the bright southern sun, smiled at
the lad.  "Good work.  Now run get caps and goggles for the
gentlemen."

"Yes'm."  The boy dropped to the ground and scampered into the
nearby stable.

Senator Miles Heatherford (Retired), wearing his usual immaculate
white suit with black shoestring necktie but bareheaded as
requested, cocked an eyebrow.  "You let him get up steam and
drive it out of the stable, did you?"

Her eyes narrowed.  "Why not?  He's a careful lad."

"And he can read gauges.  You've sent him to school?"

The woman grinned.  "Don't pretend you forgot leaving me the
money for that, senator.  He's also a bright lad, which only
surprises those with no inkling of his parentage."

"Maybelle has wit enough," the man conceded.

Madam Ruth regarded him archly.  "It's not his mother I mean."

The senator chuckled, matching her expression.

"Who is his father?" asked the young man, dressed in English
riding costume, including shiny knee-high boots but also
bareheaded, standing beside the senator.

"Who knows?" said the woman with a smirk.

The senator tut-tutted, causing the point of his gray van dyke to
quiver.  "Armie, when it's in doubt, that's a question not even a
senator's nephew should ask."

The woman leered.  "Especially _this_ senator's nephew!"

The young man blinked at the adults in puzzlement but was
diverted from further investigation when the spring-loaded back
door of the huge house banged behind two young ladies, who fairly
skipped over the flagstones to join them.  His mouth fell open
artlessly as he studied the newcomers.  Their faces were truly
identical and identically lit in bright smiles.  They were
dressed exactly alike in below-the-knee frocks, low slippers and
calf stockings, capes streaming behind them and hair tied back in
ribbons -- their only difference: a red ribbon on one, blue on
the other.

"Senator!" called the blue ribboned girl as she approached.  "I
might've known you'd be here."

The senator intoned, "My boy, I want you to meet Cannes-d'Eau's
newest attraction, Lettie in the blue ribbon and Pettie in the
red: the most agreeable twin sisters you're ever likely to know.
Ladies, this is my nephew, Armister Heatherford.  He answers to 
'Armie.'"

Demonstrating the value of drilled habit, the astonished young
man stammered, eyes flicking from one girl to the other, "I'm
p-pleased to meet you, ah, ladies."

"Me too," said Pettie of the red ribbon.

Lettie's eyes widened.  "A _senator's_ nephew!  Golly!"

Smiling, the man asked her, "How might you have known I'd be
here?"

"'Cause you are every time something real good happens to us,"
was the prompt reply.

"So far," agreed her twin.

The senator winked at his nephew.  "I believe they're as excited
about an automobile ride as you are."

The youth's eyes brightened on the girls.  "Have you ever ridden
before?"

Their eyes turned to Madam Ruth.  The senator chuckled,
understanding the question in that look: What do you want us to
tell him?  "Fast learners," he muttered.

The madam answered for them.  "Not many of us have ridden yet.
It only seats seven.  You girls tie your bonnets on and have your
goggles ready.  You did bring them, I trust.  Ah, and here's the
head pieces for our gentlemen."

The boy, Tunny, had returned.  To the senator and Armie he passed
elastic goggles and adjustable driving caps with snap bands.
"Help them, girls," ordered the madam.  Once the men had donned
the devices, the twins adjusted position and fit and only then
produced bonnets and goggles from beneath their capes.  They
assisted each other.

"Mount the beast!" ordered the woman.  The young people scrambled
directly up into the high open vehicle, the young man between the
twins in the second or middle seat, the lad coming to rest in the
third or rear seat beside the picnic basket, leaning forward with
his arms on the back of the second.

The senator laughed.  "'Mount the beast' indeed -- how well put!"
He and the woman moved around to the right side of the car, where
he cupped his hands below the driver's seat.  "May I give you a
boost, my lady?"

The woman leered at him.  "You know where to push if I need
pushing."  Left hand gripping the high metal side of the seat,
daintily booted foot set on the right perch pole, she pulled
herself high enough to clasp the steering wheel with her right
hand and sail up smartly to plop into the well-cushioned seat.

The senator gaped up at her.  "I can see you've done this a few
times before."

"Yeah, but don't you try what I did."

"I beg your pardon!"

She grinned.  "See the perch pole?  It's only made of wood.
Bartwood said it's not strong enough to stand on."

"Yes, I met Mr. Bartwood in your parlor the other night.  Why do
_you_ stand on it then?"

"Because it's _my_ perch pole.  Go around and get in."

On the left side of the car the senator managed to board by
grasping dashboard and seat and raising one foot above the left
perch pole to the high floorboard.  Once in the seat he had to
take a few deep breaths, whereupon he felt the woman's gaze.

The usual flippancy was absent from her voice.  "What's the
matter, Miles?"

"I get out of breath these days.  Let me ask you: if a perch pole
is so flimsy, what's it good for?"

"To perch on, as far as I know."  She craned around in her seat
and raised her voice.  "Tunny, get up here!"

Behind them the lad clambered nimbly over the dodging occupants
of the middle seat and knelt behind the front.  "Yes'm," he
announced.

"What are the perch poles for?"

He answered immediately, "To keep the axles parallel to each
other."

The senator looked over the side of the car, all the way back to
the slightly hissing finger of steam issuing from the exhaust,
before blinking at the lad.  "That even makes sense, considering
there's no unsprung chassis."

The woman smirked at him.  "Tunny reads quite well, enough to
understand the owner's manual.  He might make a good mechanic
someday, if that ever becomes an honest profession."  She leaned
more toward the center of the car, eyes taking in the bewildering
array of dials, gauges and valves.  "Is everything topped off,
Tunny?"

"Yes'm.  Water tank's full, kerosene's full, naphtha's full, and
the fuel pressure's good enough to get started if you don't keep
sitting here."

The senator looked approvingly over his shoulder.  "By god, he's
a mechanic already!"

"Do I detect a note of pride?" asked the woman archly.

The man grinned and looked away.

She chuckled and took a moment at last to don her own goggles and
bonnet.

"What protects the boy's eyes?" asked the senator.

"He can close them -- or turn around backwards.  They don't seem
to make children's sizes yet.  All right ... engine's unhooked.
Here we go."

"_Unhooked_?" he repeated, then shook his head as if doubting his
hearing.  She had wiggled the throttle lever forward and back,
producing a small cough behind them as the car twitched forward.
Once it was rolling she opened the throttle slightly.  The
vehicle proceeded slowly down the gravel drive toward the street
to the accompaniment of a soft chuffing.

 From the middle seat Armie was heard to say in wonder, "That
sounds like Grandma's cough!"

"What you think?  This ain't no railroad engine!" Tunny declared
defensively over his shoulder.

Madam Ruth's foot pressed the right pedal to stop the car before
bumping up onto the paved street.  She scanned the passing mix of
carriages and buggies, all heading to the left, mostly on the
opposite side of the street.  The iron-shod horse hooves falling
on the asphalt were far louder than the car's steam engine, now
reduced again to a slight hiss.  "Church must have just let out,"
she commented sourly.

The senator produced his pocket watch and agreed.  While they
waited an open carriage of well-dressed couples passed, using the
center of the road in the manner of an inattentive or arrogant
driver.  Directly before the automobile both horses audibly
plopped a succession of large brown lumps onto the street
surface.  The women in the carriage covered their mouths with
gloved hands but cast merry eyes upon Madam Ruth and her
passengers.  One leaned forward to speak to their rear-facing
escorts, who erupted in laughter.

"Bastards!" cried Tunny.  "They did that on purpose!"

"Watch your language!" enjoined the madam in a fierce whisper.  
"How do you think they got the horses to cooperate?"  She raised
her voice.  "At least I can drive around those piles.  Hold on to
your hats; here's a break."

She started up with the necessary initial throttle wiggle then
shoved it hard forward.  Leaving it there, she used both hands to
wrestle the steering wheel to the left.  The steam exhaust
erupted in loud chuffs, quickly rising in speed.  The Stanley
Steamer's two-cylinder half-cycle engine, more powerful even on a
stopped crankshaft than one of the internal-combustion type with
four times the cylinders, easily spun the rear wheels, throwing
gravel backwards and the car forward into the road.  Centrifugal
force piled the three occupants of the middle seat to the right,
producing a slight scream from poor Lettie.  The senator slammed
against the driver, who held on to the wheel, unable to complete
her turn.  Tunny clutched the back of the front seat with all his
strength.

"Now's not the time ..." Ruth began, meaning to issue a jocular
warning.  The rubber tires, squalling now as they slipped on the
pavement, drove the car on around an insufficiently tight curve.
The vehicle bounced over the curb onto the far sidewalk,
fortunately empty of pedestrians at that moment.  It rolled back
into the street just in time to avoid a fireplug.

Madam Ruth was ever responsive, whether with heels raised or
lowered.  One hand retired the throttle lever and joined the
other in spinning the wheel back to the right in time to
straighten out in alignment with the right lane.

"Whoa!  Whoa!" rose the cries behind them from other drivers who
had witnessed the detour, as they pulled their vehicles to
precautionary halts.

The senator, also of noteworthy responsiveness, slipped a hand
into the madam's cape and strongly compressed a large, soft
breast through frock and camisole.  "Christ, Ruthie!" he said.

"-- To feel up the driver," she concluded, adding with a laugh, "
Maybe it is too!"

Returning to his proper seat, he withdrew a large white
handkerchief, pushed up his goggles and wiped his face thoroughly
while taking several deep breaths.  Restoring the handkerchief to
his pocket, he shook his head.  "You need more driving practice,
Ruth."

"That's what I'm getting," she answered tartly.  "Did we lose
anybody?"

He looked over his shoulder at three faces white behind their
goggles.  Though recentered in the seat, the two girls were
clinging tightly to the young man.  Tunny, crouched before them,
grinned.  "That was _fun_!"

"Yeah.  Fun."  The senator swung back.  "All present and
accounted for."

The boy leaned into the man's ear.  "If she hadn't gone to the
sidewalk, we'd've run into that hack that tried to shit on us."

The woman took a deep breath and adjusted her goggles with one
hand.  On its way back to the wheel, that hand stretched forth
and squeezed the man's thigh.  "You have a nice grip, Miles."

"So do you, Ruthie, especially on the steering wheel."

She sniffed but replaced it there.  She had found the throttle
setting that maintained an indicated speed of six miles per hour
to match the carriage in front of them.  The chuffing subsided to
a regular series of discreet coughs, interspersed with a hissing
milder even than the slither of steel-tired carriage wheels
around them.  Horse hooves clopping before and behind were now
the loudest sounds.

The senator commented, "How quiet this is!"

"One of the advantages of a steamer," she responded with
satisfaction.

"Didn't you buy this car in April?"

"Yes."

"Why did you buy a steamer, by the way?"

"Because of Fred Marriott."

"Who?"

"You know me, Miles.  I positively drip for a hero.  Fred
Marriott set the world land record, 127 miles per hour, in a
Stanley car this January."

"Good heavens!  In a car like this one?"

"Well, its body was more streamlined but it was a steamer."

"Where in the world did he find a road that good?"

"Nowhere.  It was an ocean beach in Florida."

"I hope you don't try to match him, Ruth."

She chuckled.  "No long flat beaches here."

Tunny called from behind them, "Don't forget to hook up the
engine."

She responded over her shoulder.  "Thought I'd wait till we get
out from behind these slow horses."

The senator goggled.  "_Hook up_ the engine?"

She grinned.  "It means to turn the left floor pedal so its hook
catches.  Makes the car run faster.  You'll have to ask Tunny how
it works."

The lad spoke unprompted.  "It limits the range of piston stroke
that steam's applied over."

The senator shook his head.  "If you say so.  You must have
memorized the manual."

"I'm sure he did," agreed the madam.

"Have to draw a diagram to 'splain it," asserted the boy
complacently.

"Draw that diagram when we get back to Cannes d'Eau."

"Sure."

The senator saw only confidence in the lad's guileless face.
Beyond him both girls were snuggled close to Armie, chins on his
shoulders, apparently whispering in his ear.  The young man
laughed aloud at one such message.  "Both at the same time?" he
said incredulously.  The female chins nodded together.  Armie's
face was flushed.

The senator straightened up, laid his arm on the seat back behind
the madam and leaned toward her.  "I see that our twins have been
fully assimilated."

"They _arrived_ assimilated!" Ruth asserted.  "Why do you say
that?"

"Their sweet nothings have got him blushing already."

"Is that all?  I was afraid they had pulled his cock out.  By the
way, that's the mayor's son in the carriage ahead of us."

"I thought I recognized him."

Her glance was quizzical.  "Are you sure you want your nephew and
yourself seen in the same car with the notorious owner of the
Cannes d'Eau?"

The senator chuckled.  "Are you kidding?  At this point in my
career it can only _improve_ my reputation.  And it won't hurt
the kid's, either."

They had reached Riverside Drive, only a few blocks from the
Cannes d'Eau.  Madam Ruth turned north; the carriage they had
been following turned south.  She increased the speed to 16 miles
per hour.  Soon they caught and passed the only buggy ahead of
them.

"There!  I've hooked it."  The exhaust sound became sharper but
no louder.

"People are at lunch," she noted.  "We've got the road to
ourselves."

The senator sighed gratefully.  "This wind is most refreshing!
Have you ever driven faster?"

"Yes, I've had it up to 40, but the asphalt ends at Border
Street.  On a dirt road it's too easy to break a spring."

"Well, how about giving us a little more until we run out of
pavement?"

"You think that'll be cooler?  Why not."  She grinned
suggestively, advancing the throttle.  "How about raising my
skirt to catch the air?"

He bent down, caught the hem of the garment on the near side and
pulled it up to expose that thigh.  The speedometer soon quivered
at 28.  Seeing no one on the street on either side, he slid
himself against the dashboard and raised the skirt high enough
for air to billow under it.

"How's that?" he called above the rumble in his ears.

"We're putting on a show," she answered, though not in protest.

His free left hand was drawn irresistibly under the cloth,
causing her to quiver perceptibly even above the car's vibration.

"Better not distract me," she warned.

"I guess not," he agreed, straightening reluctantly and
ostentatiously sucking the middle finger of his left hand.

She laughed.  "I'll let you taste some more of that after a
while.  Now pull my skirt down before somebody gets a free
eyeful."

She had decreased speed to twelve miles per hour when they
dropped off the end of the pavement.  Immediately the car began
to bounce and lurch, riding in and out of the wagon ruts
remaining from the last rain, requiring the driver's unimpeded
concentration.

The senator looked over his shoulder at the passengers.  The
young man had placed an arm around each girl, each of whom
gripped her side of the seat.  Lettie, the one with the blue
ribbon, grinned hugely at the senator's inquiring glance and
yelled, "Ride 'em, cowboy!"  Presumably she had sometime attended
a rodeo at the county fair.

Tunny grinned into the senator's face.  "I love this bouncy part."


The man said reflectively, "A trotting horse can move a buggy
almost this fast.  It makes you appreciate why they have only two
wheels."

"Huh!  Madam Ruth could dodge the ruts if she would."

"Hmm.  You think the unrutted road is smoother?"

"Most of the time, unless you hit a stone."

The driver overheard despite the squeaking of the springs.  "And
that can break an axle!" she declared.  "Heavy wagons have cut
the deepest ruts and turned the stones aside.  They make the
smoothest road."

"But she can't stay in them," countered the lad.  "They're mostly
wider than her axles."

"Just hang on," she retorted.  "We'll be quit of these ruts as
soon as we clear the dock area."

Looking past the lad, the senator asked his nephew, "Can you
stand more of this?"

The young man's face was a study in happy excitement.  A hand
fondled the far breast of each girl, compressing her blouse from
the outside.  Each girl's free hand, the one not gripping the
side of the seat, squeezed his thigh.  Upon turning to them, the
senator had glimpsed from the corner of his eye those hands
twitching away from some other hold.

"Stupid question," muttered the senator.

"What was his answer?" asked Madam Ruth.

"He didn't.  He's thinking about tits and the twins about cock."

"Well, of course at their age.  Here we are.  Now we can get down
to the river."

She slowed the car and turned off onto a grassy wagon track that
hugged the side of the bluff in a steep descent.  Winding back
and forth, it was enclosed by bushes on the steep bluff to the
right and treetops growing up from the flood plain on the left.
Though this less traveled road was smoother and distinctly
downhill, the madam kept a slow speed.

The senator craned his head to verify brakes applied, but to his
surprise found her depressing the left pedal instead of the
right.  "That's not the brakes!" he cried involuntarily.

She grinned at him.  "It's the reverse pedal."

"_Reverse_?  I thought you said that's the pedal that hooks and
unhooks."

"Well, in fact it's called the 'hook up' pedal.  The hook is for
holding it part way down.  Press it farther and it puts the
engine in reverse.  If I used the brakes here, they'd be faded
out before we got to the bottom and we'd be in trouble.  But this
way, sort of halfway in reverse, the engine keeps us slow."

The senator chuckled in awe.  "I'll be damned."

"Just by valve timing," Tunny declared stoutly.  "Ain't no gas
engine can do that."

The man shook his head.  "I'm impressed.  Tunny isn't the only
reader of user manuals."

The woman laughed softly.  "Don't accuse me of that.  I learned
the hard way.  The first time we came down here we had to run
into bushes to stop.  The coffin still has the scratches."

"The _what_?"

She chuckled.  "You must've noticed the front of the car is
rounded like a coffin."

"That's where the boiler is," said Tunny sagely.

When the road leveled out, sunlight glinted off the river through
the tree trunks to the left.  Madam Ruth increased speed again
until the trees were passing quickly on either side, leaves
fluttering in the breeze thus created.

"Now this is what I call smooth," said the senator
appreciatively.

"This little road is mostly used by fishermen, in the morning or
the evening."

"Aha, method to your madness!  At noon they don't catch anything."

"Which is why I like to come here then if the weather's nice."
She flicked him a grin.  "I bring my own fish."

"Indeed!"  They both laughed.

Shortly the car bore left, descending a gentle embankment to a
long clearing on the shore of the huge river.  Trees shaded the
onshore half of it and thick grass covered the first fifty yards.
Rolling easily through the grass, the car executed a tight 180
degree turn to face back up the embankment before gliding to a
stop.

"Here we are, folks," the madam announced, turning valves to shut
off fuel flow.  "What do you think of it?"

The senator stood up in the floorboards and looked all around. 
"This is just an overgrown sandbar," he announced.

"No doubt," Ruth agreed.

"Which likely won't be here after the floods next spring."

"Neither will we," she countered.  "But _now_ it's a nice, cool
spot for a picnic and the view is most interesting."

"By god, we're at _The Elbow_.  The river flows in from the north
and bends west."

Tunny, staring around the senator, exclaimed, "Gosh, look at that
old steamer!"

A large steamship, paddlewheels churning the water on either
side, thin smoke trailing behind, made its stately way downriver.

Madam Ruth leapt from her seat lightly as a girl.  "Leave your
goggles and hats in the car but bring your capes to spread on the
grass.  Anybody hungry besides me?  Tunny, get that basket down
and lay the cloth under the trees."

It was a basket large enough even for a bucket of ice and a
jeroboam of champagne.  "Golly, what a big bottle!" declared
Lettie when it was produced.

The senator studied the label.  "Chateau Rothschild 1892!  Ruth,
you must have the best cellar in town."

"And the best second floor.  It's demi-sec," she pointed out, 
"the way you like it."

"These kids will like it sweeter too.  Ah, what is this, roast
beef sandwiches?  Made with Razor's lemon mayonnaise, I trust."

"Oh, yes.  And egg salad also."

"I think you also have the best chef in town, but I've told you
that before.  This will be a feast!"

The senator sat back against a tree trunk, eating from a large
cloth napkin spread in his lap, Ruth close beside him.  The young
people all lay on their bellies in the grass and ate while
propped up on their elbows.  Only the girls were unfamiliar with
champagne.  Each expressed approval and exclaimed over the
bubbles tickling their noses.

The day, already hot, grew warmer.  When the senator threw off
his coat and opened his tie, Armie gratefully emulated him.  The
girls regarded the young man enviously.

Lettie asked suddenly, "Say, Pettie, can you swim?"

The sister under the red ribbon nodded enthusiastically.  "Oh,
yes!  Armie, how about you?"

"Sure."

"Then let's go swimming."  As one the girls turned to the woman.
"Can we, Madam Ruth?"

Two large boats were navigating The Elbow at that moment.  "What
about _them_?" inquired the woman, pointing.

"We'll keep our slips on."

"Hmm.  You'll have to ride home with your slips rolled up in the
laundry basket."

"That would be nice!" declared Lettie, winking at the young man.

The senator asked, "If you join them, Armie, what will you wear?"

The young man looked askance at his uncle.  "As little as I can
get away with."

The man chuckled slightly.  "If you ask me, I don't see any point
in wet underwear.  Wait for a break in the traffic and slip into
the water _au naturel_."

"Oh what?" asked Armie blankly.

"Damned reactionary school," muttered the senator to the grinning
woman.  "They still think Latin is more important than French.  I
mean, _stark naked_!"

"Us too?" asked Lettie hopefully.

"No, dear," answered the madam.  "Men can spot naked boobies a
mile away."

"Then how about just our camisoles?"

"Hmm.  You'll not do any diving.  I guess camisoles will be all
right."

"Just a minute," cautioned the senator, raising his hand.  
"Swimming right after a meal is dangerous."

Already raising their skirts, the girls paused to stare.  "How
long before we can?" they asked in unison.

Armie, who had not moved, grinned at them.  "An hour.  Let's go
look around in the bushes.  An hour will be up in no time."

Lettie studied him thoughtfully.  She grinned slowly.  "We can
find a good spot to undress."

"Good idea!"  He rose to his feet and bowed to the adults.  "If
you kind people will excuse us ..."

The senator nodded.  "Watch out for mosquitoes, though at this
time of day they shouldn't be a problem."

Armie caught a girl's hand in each of his and drew them away.
Lettie said, "You knew he'd make us wait, didn't you?"  The
adults and the still chewing boy heard his reply.  "Sure.  It's
the grownup rule."

"Oh, you like grownup rules, do you?" asked one the girls.  The
three had already drawn far enough way that his answer was
indistinct.

Ruth grinned lazily.  "The human puppy is cute."  Her hand pulled
her blouse off one shoulder.  "I want to feel more of that
breeze."

The senator smiled indulgently.  "Take off as much as you want."

"Unfortunately what I said about men is true."

He rolled forward and pulled the picnic basket between them and
the river.  "How's this?  Lay your head in my lap and no one can
see the condition of your chest.  Except me, and you know my
opinion.  I think it's an example of nature's highest art."

"Yes, so you've said.  Well, why not?  Unbutton me."  She turned
her back to his busy fingers.  Shortly she threw off blouse and
camisole, lowered the slip to her waist and raised skirts to meet
it.  With head in his lap she grinned up at him while his hand
fondled the large mature breasts lolling to each side of her
chest.  "I'm glad you admire my boobs, Miles."  She raised her
voice.  "Tunny, get up in the car and holler if you see anybody
coming down the road."

"Yes'm," agreed the boy, rising to obey.

"The twins have cute sets too," said the senator, "but I'll admit
partiality to mature ones like these, so round and full."

"Well, enjoy them while they last.  I went through the change
last year and you know what happens to boobs after that."

"Did you ever consider having them photographed?"

"Sure.  I had pictures made of everybody two years ago."

"Nude?"

"That's right, you were in Europe.  Of course, nude.  And in
action."

"Oh?"

"Only with Clancy and Jake."

"Did you sell them?"

"To the photographer.  I think he cheated me."

"Probably.  You ought to make some more for your private
collection, especially of these two beauties -- before, as you
say, it's too late.  And add the twins.  I know a reputable man
with a darkroom.  Why don't we come see you in a week or two?"

She chuckled.  "Maybe I'll agree if you'll pose too."

"An old man?  Who wants to see an old man's sorry excuse for a
body?"

"For my private collection, you said."

He took a breath.  "Done."

"That was easy," she observed dryly.

"I just realized, if I stick around I can suggest poses.  I'd
really like a front view of you on hands and knees with these
mouth-watering plums dangling."

"And your cock in my mouth?"

He laughed.  "Both ways."

"Who needs a photographer?"  Her hands came up and unbuttoned his
fly with practiced ease.  In a moment the stiffening manhood was
between her lips.

He lay back against the tree trunk, letting her proceed, aware of
birdsong, cricket chirp, soughing breeze and the lap of waves on
the shoreline from the wakes of passing boats.  Looking up, he
met Tunny's eye.  The boy grinned and made a circle with thumb
and forefinger before turning away to scan the road.  He appeared
to have the Stanley user's manual open in his hands.

An urgent masculine moan sounded from the bushes at the end of
the greensward.  Ruth released the senator with an inquiring
look.  "Quit!" cried the distant voice distinctly.

The woman chuckled wryly.  "It's hard to teach hot tarts how to
end a french."

"Why do you suppose that is?" asked the man.

"They want that part over with so they can put it in lower down."

He nodded.  "Makes sense.  Perhaps they won't impress him so
terribly as Maybelle."

"Maybelle was his first?"

"His very first.  Since his nanny I doubt anyone had touched his
cock except a friend or two at school."

"He told you about those friends?"

"No, of course not.  But boys like to compare each other, see who
can squirt the farthest, find out how a strange hand or cock
feels.  I've been there."

"Maybelle was a wise choice.  She loves the young stuff, you
know."

"Don't you all?"

"Oh, no.  Alice Faye still moons over you.  And so would Lettie,
I expect, if you'd half-way encourage her.  What do you mean,
Maybelle impressed him _terribly_?"

"He was determined on marrying her.  I have no doubt he would
have proposed if he'd been of age -- except of course if he was,
he'd hardly be so sentimental."

"Marrying her!"  The woman smiled.  "I remember.  Young guys have
asked me a couple times."

"You married twice, didn't you, Ruth?"

"No, not _married_ twice; just once, and not for romance.  Young
people forget that marriage is an economic proposition.  I meant
to marry Bailey and would have done if he hadn't stopped that
bullet coming out of the bank."

"Ah, it's your _husband_ who's languishing in the pen."

She grinned.  "With Bailey gone I've rather lost my incentive to
divorce him."

"And obviously you no longer want to marry."

"Which is wise at my age, don't you think?  What about you,
Miles?  A famous man can marry any single woman, you know."

He grinned.  "I feel no need of marriage, which is largely your
fault.  How about changing places with me?  You promised me
another taste."

She laughed.  "That was a fast change of subject!  You'll have to
find my camisole if you want me to sit up."

Shortly their positions were reversed.  Ruth sat against the
tree, her breasts covered in the thin camisole, skirts still
bunched about her waist, while the senator lay full length
between her splayed legs, face immersed in lush brown pubes.  She
glanced up at Tunny in the nearby car seat to find him looking
back.

"What're you staring at?"

"Hazel taught me how to do that," the boy answered.

"Did she!  And what did you think of it?"

He grinned.  "She said it'll make my dick grow."

"An interesting point.  Miles, is it helping yours any?"

Instead of answering, the man's tongue stroked more directly.
Ruth shivered, forgetting the boy as her eyes drifted shut.  She
settled more comfortably against the tree as her legs began to
twitch.  In another minute they closed inadvertently upon the
bearded head.  She looked up again: no one was in sight except
the boy, now with hand under his waistband, jiggling.  She
clenched her eyes shut and emitted a long wail of pleasure before
roughly shoving the man's head away.

He responded by inserting three fingers into her and working them
vigorously, letting the web between fingers and thumb bounce her
clitoris.  She leaned forward, caught his shoulders and pulled
him upon her, showering kisses on his mouth and grunting in time
with the continuing thrusts of his hand.  Finally, red of face,
she screamed softly and thrust him away from her, twisting her
legs to foreclose his access.

He lowered his back to the ground and laid his head on the cool
thighs as her panting subsided.  She caressed his bearded cheek.
In a moment his hand rose to enclose hers.


* * *


"Are they asleep?" asked a soprano voice.

The senator's eyes popped open.  He blinked in the bright
skylight before recognizing the beauty that filled his vision.
Armie stood arm in arm with the two girls.  All three were naked.

"Good god!"  He rose up to stare past them at the river, noting
with a sigh of relief that presently no boat was passing.  Ruth,
also awakened, pushed down her skirts.

"Has it been an hour?" asked Armie.  "The sun has moved quite a
ways."

The senator removed his pocket watch.  "More like three hours!
Did you fall asleep too?"

"I guess so."  The young man grinned.  "We also had a little fun,
didn't we, girls?"

"I wouldn't call it that," said Pettie, grinning archly under the
red ribbon that was her only clothing.  "That thing of yours is
more than just a _little_ fun, sweet Armie."  She rubbed her hip
against his.

Ruth laughed.  "Keep his mind off _that_ if you want to go
swimming."

"Come on!" urged Lettie, pulling the others toward the water.

"Hold up!" ordered Ruth loudly.  "Where are your camisoles?"

"Do we have to?"

"Absolutely.  Go find them.  In fact, bring your clothing here to
the car."

Both girls made faces.  Armie shrugged.  "I'm going ahead."

"Me too."  Tunny, also nude, appeared beyond the end of the
vehicle.

The two young males trotted across the grass and dove into the
river.  Meanwhile the twins vanished into the far bushes.

The senator asked, "Can that boy swim?"

"What do you think?" Ruth retorted.

Indeed the two tanned bodies swiftly departed the shore in
efficient crawls.  The girls returned, bearing armloads of
clothing which they dangled over the car's perch poles.  Armie's
suit was included, the senator saw to his pleasure.  "Thank you,
girls."

"Shoulda made _him_ fetch them," muttered Pettie, who following
her sister, threw on a camisole and ran to the water.  They
splashed together and swam furiously in pursuit of the boys.

"All four seem to be strong swimmers," admitted the senator after
watching a while.

Ruth said, "Tunny and a boy from McAlister's have been going to
the river every summer for years."

"And Armie is assistant captain on his school's swim team.  I'll
confess I'm surprised the girls can do so well."

"But they're swimming after _boys_, Miles!"

He chuckled and shook his head.  "That could account for it, but
I think somebody at those orphanages deserves credit."

"Ha!  Dr. Harrison Baines is your man, Miles, especially for
training girls.  In his cups one night he claimed that the sexes
are equal, or ought to be."

"That sounds like his whimsy."

"I told him when I grew a cock, I'd like to compare notes.  Would
you still love me if I had a cock, Miles?"

"Only if you kept that tasty quim too."

"An hermaphrodite, eh?"

"We'd put you in the McAlister freak show.  But now I understand.
Harry believes in exercise, especially for girls."

"Harry believes in _Harry_ exercising girls!"

"Well, yes, but what can one man do with so many?  He must've
found a substitute.  Swimming is said to be very good for the
figure."

They sat in companionable silence, enjoying the calm of late
afternoon.  Suddenly Ruth sat up straight, staring out over the
water.  "Miles, that huge barge!  It's heading straight for our
kids."

The senator rose to his feet.  His fly remained unbuttoned but
its contents were fully withdrawn behind underbritches.  Well out
from shore a screw tug was pushing upriver a long barge that rode
high in the water.  He groused, "The pilot on the front of that
barge must be asleep, ought to signal for the warning whistle."
Through cupped hands he shouted, "Hey!" and pointed urgently
toward the vessels.

Whether aroused by his call or more likely their own observation,
the four distantly frolicking figures turned as one and swam
towards the shore.  As frequently found in sharp bends, the
surface current here possessed a circular component that had
prevented them from drifting downriver.  If continuing to swim,
they would land about where they had first plunged.  Meanwhile
the barge and its pusher passed behind them.

Ruth exclaimed, "Look how that wake tosses them!"

The senator sniffed.  "That's why they went out so far, I'm sure.
Think back to your own youth."

"Not I.  I never learned to swim.  Hello, what's that?"

 As the tug cleared the swimmers something large and white
dropped from its middeck into the water.

"Looked like a naked body," said the senator.  "My god, it is a
body!  He's swimming toward the kids."

They watched, expecting tug and barge to slow momentarily, but
the vessels proceeded at the same stately pace, slowly turning to
port as they rounded the bend.

"What's going on?" asked Ruth plaintively.  "How'll he get back
to the tug?"

"Especially naked."  The man grunted.  "We are likely witnessing
a prime example of youthful folly.  Those camisoles were too
thin, Ruth."

She chuckled.  "If so, the girls will love such commitment.  
They'll take care of him."

"No doubt.  I don't think Armie impressed them much."

"Oh, I don't know.  They voluntarily fetched his clothes back,
didn't they?"

The newcomer had reached the group of four.  Contrary to the
watchers' expectation, however, he continued swimming vigorously
toward shore.  Furthermore the others followed.

"That's a little strange," commented the senator.  "I would have
stopped long enough to grab a tit at least."

"At the very least," agreed the woman, grinning up at him.  "
Maybe he's just too eager to poke.  You can't do that in deep
water, can you?"

"_I_ could never do it in water at all!"

"There you are, then.  The girls must be planning to accommodate
him."

"Not too immediately, I hope, else every boat that comes by will
drop swimmers."

"You mean this could be a good site for business?"

He chuckled.  "Except the sheriff would hardly ignore it.  Even
Boss Twill couldn't save you."

"I know," she agreed in pretended disappointment, "too public.
And they'd trample the bushes in no time."

"Right you are.  Hmm.  That man must be a westerner."

"You can tell from here?"

"When he turns his head, you can see his long hair streaming
behind."

"Now that you point it out.  And youthful folly is right: he
doesn't have the first trace of a beard."

"I'll be damned!"

"That's likely.  What did you just discover?"

"Look upriver, Ruth.  A boat has put out from that tug."

"Then let's be damned together.  That tug still isn't slowing
down."

"Looks like just one man in the boat."

"With a full beard.  He must be chasing his wayward son."

"A bushy one, I see even with his back turned.  You have good
eyes, my dear."

"He'll never catch back up to the tug in that rowboat.  I'll bet
he stole it, Miles."

"Another admirer of the twins' tits?"

"Who can't swim."

"That could explain it.  Give him the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe he was delayed by negotiating with the captain to buy that
boat."

Ruth stood up, rearranged her skirts and donned her blouse.  The
senator buttoned her from behind while both watched the
approaching spectacle.  The boat caught up with the swimmers and
shipped oars only a few yards offshore.  A hand on each gunwale,
the rower, a husky, bushy-bearded and shirtless man in worn blue
overalls, leaned over the bow and shouted clearly, "Rhoda,
goddammit, get in the boat!"

A high soprano screamed, "Don't let him get me!"

At that moment the boat was gliding past Armie toward the
newcomer, apparently Rhoda, who was still in the lead.  The young
man reached up out of the water and caught the transom.  The drag
of his body nearly halted the small boat.  Its occupant would
doubtlessly have pitched into the river had he not been gripping
both gunwales.

"What the hell?" he demanded, rising and turning around.

Armie hoisted his face above the transom.  "Settle it on shore,"
he proposed loudly.

"Get your fucking hands off my boat!"

The young eyes narrowed.  Every inch the high-born youth, Armie
snarled, "Watch your language, my man," and threw a bare foot
over the gunwale, obviously intending to board.

"Damn you!" cried the man, who snatched an oar free of the lock
and swung it hard against the lad's shoulder.  Armie fell behind
the boat with a splash.

The senator strode forward, yelling, "Hold on there!"

Just to his left Rhoda reached the shore and bounded out of the
water.  She was naked, fleshy and wide of hip, black hair
streaming water down her back, full breasts bouncing as she
strode on the land.  Huge dark eyes glared wildly around,
settling upon Madam Ruth.  She sprang toward the woman.  "Help
me, oh, help me.  He'll burn me!"

The boat's keel grated on the slight shingle.  The heavily
bearded man moved nimbly into the prow, still holding the oar.  
"Stand aside," he ordered the approaching senator.  "I'm going to
get that girl."

Eyes flashing, the open-shirted senator confronted him, fists on
hips.  "Maybe you are and maybe you aren't.  If you've harmed my
nephew you're going to jail."

"I just knocked him off my boat, where he didn't have any
business.  Now stand aside, damn it."  He raised a bare foot to
the bow chock, obviously intending to leap onto land.

The senator interposed himself directly in the path.  "Who is
this girl and who are you to _get_ her?"

"You old bastard, I'm not gonna tell you again."

"What you are _going_ to do is sit down in that boat until I find
out what this is all about."

"You think so?"

The man swung the oar.  Having anticipated it, the senator
ducked, hands rising to catch the oar and pull its wielder down.
Anticipating _that_, the man kicked the senator in the chest with
the top of his foot.  In a whoosh of expelled breath, the older
man performed most of a backward somersault, finishing up face
down on his belly, hands clutching his chest.

With a grin of satisfaction, the bearded man threw the oar behind
him to clatter into the boat and stepped onto the ground.  "I
told you so," he said to the prone senator and closed the several
feet to Madam Ruth, standing with the kneeling Rhoda clinging to
her thighs.

"Don't come any closer!" ordered the madam, withdrawing a small
pistol from her waistband.  The double-click as she cocked it
punctuated her words.  She leveled it in his face.

But the man, six feet away, sneered.  "You think that pop-gun
will do you any good?"  He threw back his head and laughed
heartily, mouth a pink maw in the bushy beard.

"It surely won't do you any," she retorted and pulled the
trigger.

With a surprisingly loud report a red tongue of flame leapt to
the open mouth.  Echoes resounding from the bluff behind them as
the man went over backwards into the grass, where he lay
unmoving, mouth still open, eyes staring sightlessly into blue
sky.

Madam Ruth lowered her smoking pistol, took a breath, and
contemplated the body before her.  In the crotch the blue
overalls began to darken.

The girl rose up and stared from the bearded man to the woman.  
"Did you kill him?"

The madam's mouth worked silently.

The senator got to his feet, wincing with an arm across his
chest, went to the fallen man and knelt beside him, hand seeking
the throat under the bushy beard.  He bent lower and looked into
the staring eyes then turned the head sideways, releasing bloody
drool onto the grass.

He stood up and regarded the woman.  "He's dead, Ruth."

She sighed.  "Oh, god."

The senator spun around.  "What about Armie?"  But at that moment
the four young people emerged from the water.  "Are you all
right?" called the senator.

"Yes, sir," answered the young man.  "Is he dead?"

"Yes, he is.  Get your clothes on, all of you, quickly."

Now the senator turned to the naked newcomer.  "Tell us about
this.  Your name is Rhoda, is that right?  Who was he and why did
you flee from him?"

She shook her head and heaved a large sigh.  "C-can I wrap that
tablecloth around me?"

"Certainly."

Ruth, having shoved the pistol back into her waistband, caught up
the cloth herself and helped the girl drape it from her
shoulders.  Behind the car the other four were dressing without
waiting to dry off.

"Do you have a drop of water?" asked the girl.

"No.  Try this."

Ruth poured her a flute of champagne.  Though now at ambient
temperature, it emptied into the girl's throat in one long pull.
"Ooo!" she gasped afterwards, eyes wide.

"Burns?" asked the senator.

"Burns good."

"Now sit down against that tree and answer my questions."

Ruth asked, "Are _you_ all right, Miles?  Didn't break a rib, did
you?"

"No, just bruised, I think.  I need to keep in mind how popular
_savate_ has become."

"If you plan to personally challenge rude interlopers every day."

"Yes, especially then.  What about it, young lady?  What were you
doing on that tug?"

"Serving the crew."

The man frowned.  "You were a ... cook's helper?"

"They called me the 'First Love Mate.'"

"Let's not misunderstand.  You were lying with them?"

"If frank words is wanted, I was fucking them."

"How many?"

"Eight."

"You don't sound like a southern girl."

"That's because I was born and raised in Cincinnati."

"I see.  How long have you been the First Love Mate?"

"I run four times with this crew 'tween Cincinnati and New
Orleans."

"Then you should be accustomed to that life."

"I thought I was."

"What changed your mind?"

"These."  She raised both her arms.  The tablecloth fell open,
exposing both armpits, whose hair showed the curly ends imparted
by singeing.  In the center of both were large, crusted sores.

"What kind of plague is that?" asked the senator.

The girl's lip curled.  "A Marble plague."

"Marble?"

"That's his name."  She pointed to the lifeless body.  "He came
aboard in New Orleans.  Claimed he liked to smell burning armpit
hair on a woman.  He got drunk twice and went too far with his
cigar."  Her voice grew savage.  "He said I had a pretty scream."
A tear rolled down one cheek.

"Good god!  What did the captain say?"

"That I had a pretty scream.  Marble was substituting for Captain
Al Smith, who took sick in New Orleans."  She sighed.  "When I
said I was going to jump ship, he locked up my clothes.  Then I
saw your swimmers naked in the water and figured I wouldn't get a
better chance."

The senator studied her face.  She returned his stare
unflinchingly.  At last he said, "An interesting tale.  Why
didn't Marble order the tug to wait for him?"

"That barge has to be in Cincinnati in four days or he gets fired
and blacklisted.  I'm pretty sure he told the mate to go on, that
he'd catch the train to Cairo."

"I take it, then, that you won't miss Captain Marble overmuch?"

"I'm glad the bastard's dead!"

The senator nodded thoughtfully.

Ruth asked, "What should I do, Miles?"

"Normally we'd let the sheriff handle this, but under the
circumstances ..."  He winked at Ruth.  "I think Rhoda needs for
this problem to just go away, and I know you do.  I mean to let
it.  Apparently you shot him through the open mouth.  Lucky for
you, that's a small caliber pistol.  Little balls like that, once
they get in a man's head, often can't penetrate the skull to get
back out.  They just rattle around inside, causing so much damage
that the heart stops instantly.  Our Captain Marble -- you sure
he's a captain in nothing but overalls?"

Rhoda nodded.  "He just got up from me."

"I was about to say, he has no external wound.  It's too bad
something capsized his boat.

"Armie, I want you and the twins to put that body in the boat.  
I'd help but my chest hurts.  And be careful to keep his face up 
so no blood gets on the planks."

"How'll we capsize it?" asked the young man, stooping to lift the
body by its shoulders.

"Row downstream a few hundred yards.  When no other boat is in
sight, dump him overboard.  He'll sink at first but rise
tomorrow.  Then put ashore away from this spin current, turn the
boat over and shove it out.  The girls can go with you to help.
What about it, Lettie and Pettie?  Can you stand it?"

"They can stand it," said Ruth confidently.  "Do as he says."

"Wait a second," interjected tablecloth-draped Rhoda.  "He's got
the payroll in his pocket."

"So?"

"A month's pay for eight crew," she explained.

"Good.  When it's found there, they'll know he was just unlucky."

"But, but ..."

The senator chuckled and shook his head.  "Sorry, Rhoda.  That
money is going to stay with him."

She said nothing more, but her face twisted in something very
close to agony.


* * *


Tunny, to his disgrace, had let the pilot burner die, but his
failure was a blessing in diguise.  Disposal of Captain Marble
took nearly as long as restoring steam pressure in the boiler.
The three disposers were waiting on shore conveniently to the
point on the wagon track where it began to mount the bluff.

"Have any trouble?" asked the senator as they climbed into the
hissing car.

"No.  Stayed under the trees while that ocean-going steamer
passed us.  Did you see it?   Is the river _that_ deep?"

"In the spring and summer.  Did the body sink?"

"Yes, sir.  Slowly."

Ruth wiggled the throttle lever then advanced it about a third.
With its customary chuffing the car began to climb the hill at a
moderate pace.

"What do you think of that, Lettie?" asked the senator over his
shoulder.  Armie and the twins had resumed the middle seat.  The
newcomer and Tunny rode in the third, the boy's feet propped on
top of the picnic basket.

"How often do we kill somebody?" the girl asked plaintively.  
"The other day I was only kidding about heads."

He reached over the seat and patted her knee.  "I know you were.
We wouldn't have killed Captain Marble if he hadn't forced
himself on us.  You do understand, don't you, that to protect
your madam and yourselves, you have got to --  Hmm.  Just a
minute."

He turned to the driver.  "Ruth, you'd better lay it on thick."

Lettie leaned forward with her face between the two older ones. 
"We know already not to breathe a word of it.  What about Armie
when he gets back to school?  Or Tunny?  Boys are the ones who
brag."

"Don't worry about Tunny," said the madam grimly.

"Nor Armie," added the senator.

The car had reached the top of the bluff.  Ruth let it come to a
stop just before turning out on Riverside Drive, at that moment
clear of traffic.  "Miles, could I ask you a favor?  Would you
have Armie change places with Rhoda?  I need to talk to her."

The man turned around in his seat and issued the necessary
orders.  Shortly the new girl sat between the twins, leaning
forward.  Ruth advanced the throttle and put the car into motion.
To their right the sun was about to settle into the far hills
downstream where the river again bent south.  Below them a
paddlewheel steamer, bound upriver, left a glittering wake.

"Did you ever work in a house, Rhoda?" asked Ruth.

"For a little while, till Cowboy Jackson talked me into running
off with him."

"When was that?"

"Three years ago."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty."

"Well, I run a house: the best one in this town."

"You _do_?  God damn, I knowed you was rich!"

"So I am.  You have a pretty face.  I'd like to give you a try.
Can you write your name?"

"Yes'm.  I can read a little too."

"What's your scruples?"

"My what?  If you mean piles, I ain't got none."

"I mean, what won't you do when the men ask?"

"Huh?  Well, I ...  Nothing that hurts much!"

"My place, the Cannes d'Eau, doesn't allow painful behavior."

"Canned Dough!  I've heard of that.  They say it's a fancy place.
You mean ..."  The girl broke into amazed laughter.

"What's funny?"

"My luck.  Getting saved from a burning by the madam of Canned
Dough.  Ain't never gonna get over that!"

"Well, you'd better learn to keep your mouth shut about it."

"Don't worry.  Lot's of things I keep shut about."

"Good.  I'm offering you a job."

"I'll take it."

"You'll have to submit to some deep probing by our doctor."

"Got a long one, has he?  Cowboy Jackson was hung too."

"His speculum feels long!  He gets the last word on your hiring,
Rhoda."

The girl drew herself up confidently.  "He won't be disappointed,
ma'am.  Even Marble said I was hot number, and that was before he
burned me."

"You've never been to a doctor, have you, Rhoda?"

"No.  But a couple have been to me."

Ruth winked at the senator, who laughed.  He said to her, "You
started out this afternoon running over shit.  That's close
enough."

"To what?"

"I'm reminded of the story about the girl who fell into the
outhouse but emerged smelling like a rose."

"Thanks to you, Miles.  We won't talk about it, but you know I'll
never forget it."

He smiled and patted her knee.

Behind them Rhoda asked Pettie, "What's a speculum?"

"It's about like a foot," was the answer.

"A foot?"  Rhoda continued after a moment's thought, "I hope he
washes it first."


END
Varangian: ludmax11@hotmail.com
kellis@dhp.com

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